The newly-appointed Commodore, whose name was Avenhorn, went on board of the Admiral, to report the state of the vessel, and to suggest, as Philip had proposed to him, that they should make the coast of South America, and endeavour, by bribery or by force, to obtain supplies either from the Spanish inhabitants or the natives.  But to this the Admiral would not listen.  He was an imperious, bold, and obstinate man, not to be persuaded or convinced, and with little feeling for the sufferings of others.  Tenacious of being advised, he immediately rejected a proposition which, had it originated with himself, would probably have been immediately acted upon; and the Commodore returned on board his vessel, not only disappointed, but irritated by the language used towards him.

“What are we to do, Captain Vanderdecken? you know too well our situation—­it is impossible we can continue long at sea; if we do, the vessel will be drifting at the mercy of the waves, while the crew die a wretched death in their hammocks.  At present, we have forty men left; in ten days more we shall probably have but twenty; for as the labour becomes more severe, so do they drop down the faster.  Is it not better to risk our lives in combat with the Spaniards, than die here like rotten sheep?”

“I perfectly agree with you, Commodore,” replied Philip; “but still we must obey orders.  The Admiral is an inflexible man.”

“And a cruel one.  I have a great mind to part company in the night, and, if he finds fault, I will justify myself to the directors on my return.”

“Do nothing rashly—­perhaps, when day by day he finds his own ship’s company more weakened, he will see the necessity of following your advice.”

A week had passed away after this conversation, and the fleet had made little progress.  In each ship the ravages of the fatal disease became more serious, and, as the Commodore had predicted, he had but twenty men really able to do duty.  Nor had the Admiral’s ship and the other vessels suffered less.  The Commodore again went on board to reiterate his proposition.

Admiral Rymelandt was not only a stern, but a vindictive man.  He was aware of the propriety of the suggestion made by his second in command, but, having refused it, he would not acquiesce; and he felt revengeful against the Commodore, whose counsel he must now either adopt, or by refusing it be prevented from taking the steps so necessary for the preservation of his crew, and the success of his voyage.  Too proud to acknowledge himself in error, again did he decidedly refuse, and the Commodore went back to his own ship.  The fleet was then within three days of the coast, steering to the southward for the Straits of Magellan, and that night, after Philip had retired to his cot, the Commodore went on deck and ordered the course of the vessel to be altered some points more to the westward.  The night was very dark, and the Lion was the only ship which carried a poop-lantern, so that the